Right before I get to the county line on some of my walks, there are two houses. One belongs to a guy I've talked to before and his house and yard are very tidy and neat, grass and bushes trimmed, kept-up nicely. But the house right before his, which is in a grove of the most beautiful oak trees you ever did see, is a house in a yard that I can't comprehend how they get so trashed out. That picture doesn't even begin to show the amount of debris scattered about. And it is SO scattered that I can't fathom how they do that. Do they just walk about the yard and dump garbage and car parts and old furniture and old appliances and ice chests and buckets and building materials and...shit...in random places that seem to them to be good spots for whatever particular crap they are throwing away? Are they hoarders whose house is so full that the overflow just has to go in the yard? It is an amazement to me. The house is some sort of prefab thing (as is the tidy one next door to it) and it doesn't even appear to have a front door, just a piece of black plastic hung like a curtain where the door would be. How do people live like this?
I know I am being Mrs. Judgy McJudgement here but it seems like it would be the most miserable of existences to be surrounded by this sort of chaos and junk. And yes, obviously poverty is an issue and I have no idea what sort of mental issues are involved. I am just bewildered. I know that for me, having at least a semblance of order creates a sense of peace. That's why I make my bed every day. When I walk through my bedroom, that made bed with its aligned pillows and unwrinkled quilt give me a sense of order. Of control, probably.
Candy has tidied my library and although I didn't realize it, the messiness there had become overwhelming. Every day now I see this sight through my kitchen door.
And I know that I am beyond privileged to have the ability to pay someone who is good at this sort of thing to help me.
There's another house I see on my walk that I am pretty sure was, at one time, the home of a hoarder. Or a hoarder couple. It's a beautiful old house and no one has lived in it since I've been here but the people who owned it lived in a doublewide off to the side and back of it. Things spilled out onto the porch of the old house and it always made me so sad. The old man of the couple used to drive around in a car, itself packed with stuff and he would often stop and talk to me which I did not find especially pleasant. He died some time ago and I'm not sure if his widow is still alive or not. But recently, there has been a lot going on there. A huge trash container was set in the front yard and it became filled with...whatever was in the house, I guess. When I walked past the place today, I noticed that the yards of both the doublewide and the house have been cleared. Like- bush-hogged. It looks naked.
She only hurt me a little bit.
Anyway, it was not completely terrible but sort of ridiculous. I guess my internet kept going in and out because the images kept being pixelized in a rather horrifying way and it didn't even matter. I mean, it's right and good that woman in their seventies or whatever, are portrayed as still being sexual and beautiful and active and desirable and funny and smart and...oh, you know the drill. Of course the odds of finding four "regular" women of that age who are as gorgeous and slim and unwrinkled as the four women in the movie outside of Hollywood are about the same as finding a sleeping princess in the forest who only needs a kiss from a prince to restore her to life.
I have truly enjoyed today with its balance of physical activity and sloth. I may do the same tomorrow.
And there in the refrigerator sat those berries, sending out their guilt beams and today I just couldn't take it any more. Plus, those things weren't getting any fresher.
So. Berry cobbler it was.
Oh yes! Fresh berries are so healthy when you mix them with sugar and lemon juice and top them with flour, butter, sugar, and milk, and bake them in a 350 degree oven until done. I guess they're less deadly than brownies and must contain at least some fiber.
Is this not wonderful? I know the names of the singers of my sunset performers.